


They All Want to Love the Cause

by 148km



Series: The Glitterbombs of Angry Queers [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asexual Character, F/F, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 16:45:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/148km/pseuds/148km
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is the head of a Los Angeles-based queer activist group, Courfeyrac gets around, no one knows what Grantaire is even doing there, and Cosette is probably the best thing that's ever happened to them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They All Want to Love the Cause

**Author's Note:**

> You caught me, I put them in Los Angeles because I was too nervous about trying to write other dialects and pretend like I know other cities. Actually, if you look at all the places I mention on a map, you'll probably clutch your face and go, "WOW YOU SURE ARE FROM THE VALLEY!" (I am.)
> 
> Also, I got into a huge fight with Google Docs over the formatting and I ended up having to manually fix most of my rich text elements. I may have missed a few.

Grantaire is everyone's friend, but sometimes (most of the time) Enjolras wishes that he would just… _not come_ to their meetings.  It would save him the trouble of having to kick him out whenever he got too boisterous or showed up totally blitzed or even ironically mentioned the phrase "straight pride."  (At times like that, Combeferre will remind him that they can't technically _fire_ a volunteer—Enjolras disagrees, but everyone likes Grantaire well enough that they tolerate him even at his most asinine.  Although they do stop serving alcoholic beverages at meetings.)

When someone innocently mentions a conversation they'd had with someone or other about GLSEN's "Ally Week" project from a while back, Enjolras feels the beginnings of a migraine before the debate even begins.  A few of them, Enjolras included, had opposed it vehemently.  Eponine has been sneering and spitting and sarcastically suggesting they all go worship at the altar of Katy Perry since the debacle originally began, and she gets just as riled up every time some poor unsuspecting straight person mentions it to her.

"Ah, but _Eponine_ ," Grantaire says caustically, and _oh_ , there's the migraine Enjolras felt coming on.  "Allies are an important part of influencing policy!  You _need_ them."  Eponine looks like her head is about to explode before she realizes he's being sophistic (Enjolras is not actually sure that makes it less annoying).  "No one's ever going to want to support your cause if you're so _angry_ and _alienating_."  It's obvious now that he's being facetious and a couple people laugh nervously, wary of the look on Enjolras' face.

"Very funny," says Enjolras; Grantaire bows with a flourish.  "But I still think it's ridiculous to prioritize straight, cis people in a movement that's supposed to support the people they're regularly shitting on."

"It _is_ only a week," Marius says quietly.

"The other fifty-one aren't enough?"  His temples are pounding, he's had this conversation with his well-meaning mother ten times too many.

"I only meant—"

"I know what you meant, and I know why people like this idea.  But it's not true to the spirit of the movement."

"I have an idea," chirps Cosette.  "This whole 'ally appreciation' thing is basically about patting people on the back for not being bigots, right?  I'm seeing T-shirts, buttons, bake sales, the works."

"Tell me more," says Courfeyrac, suddenly enraptured.  As the head of financials, he's always looking for incentives for people to throw money at them.  He scoots his chair closer to Cosette, ballpoint pen poised to take notes.

"We can put slogans on them that say, like… 'not a homophobe' or 'has a gay friend—'"

"'Knows a transgender person,'" suggests Feuilly.  "Oh, oh, how about 'hasn't committed a hate crime'?"

Cosette nods enthusiastically.  "And with the item comes a certificate that says _Congratulations on meeting the minimum requirements for being a decent person, dipshit_."

Everyone laughs outright at that, even the ones who secretly thought Ally Week was a good idea in the first place.  Enjolras feels like crying with relief.  As Cosette and Courfeyrac begin to talk animatedly about the possible design specifications, he goes to beg an ibuprofen or three off of Joly.  Grantaire watches him from his seat in the corner.

```

Enjolras hasn't been in a relationship since he moved down from the bay in 2009.

It's not that he can't get a date in Los Angeles—since he took up his leadership position, people of all persuasions have been lining up to hit on him.  He just isn't interested; the ABCs are too important to him, and he'd make a terrible boyfriend.  (That was what his last boyfriend had said when they broke up, only half-jokingly.)

He's not lonely, he honestly isn't.  He's occupied and fulfilled in his work with the ABCs and doesn't really feel that he's missing out by not dating.  But even if you're happily single, there's a kind of sting when someone tells you to stay out of the dating pool if you're not gonna fuck anyone, and it lasts and lasts and lasts even if you know it's bullshit.

He's fine, really, and he knows Dan Savage is an asshole.  And it's not as if he _needs_ anyone to love him romantically.

But it sure would be nice.

```

No one really knows what Grantaire's deal is.  Despite how vocal he is at meetings, his main contributions to conversation are to scoff at their lofty ideals and make arguments about the futility of ever trying anything in homophobic America.  "If things _do_ change for the better," he'll say, "it won't be in our lifetime."

It drives Enjolras up the wall.  The worst part is that it's not even as if he's entirely useless to them—because he argues for fun, most of the members of the ABCs are now incredibly skilled debaters ("me, I'm a _master_ debater," says Courfeyrac).  They try not to let it get to them that they can't persuade him.  Some people can't be swayed.  "At least he's on our side."

In one of his more vindictive moods, Enjolras finds himself texting Combeferre during a meeting.

 **You (7:23:12 PM):** _Why is R even here?_

The text he gets in reply is, surprisingly enough, from Eponine, seated beside his lieutenant.

 **Eponine (7:24:02 PM):** _Probably has the hots for one of us. Take bets?_  
 **You (7:24:14 PM):** _No._

He gets another message, this one from Courfeyrac.  Enjolras nervously checks to see that he'd only sent that text to Combeferre—he has, but apparently his friends are insane.

 **Courfeyrac (7:26:47 PM):** _It definitely isn't me! I hit on him once, well actually several times but he let me down easy, bless him._

The next message is from Grantaire and he nearly has an aneurysm.

 **Grantaire (7:28:24 PM):** _hello, who are we all frantically texting?_

Enjolras doesn't answer but someone else does—Grantaire chuckles out loud at his phone and puts it away for the rest of the meeting.  He doesn't appear to be listening to anything anyone is saying, which really just emphasizes Enjolras' original question, but at least he's not making an ass out of himself.

Later, when the meeting is over, he gets a text from Bossuet, who, as far as he knew, hadn't been involved in the text messaging convention.

 **Bossuet (9:02:37 PM):** _do you know if R is even queer?_

Suppressing his initial urge to throw his phone across the room because everyone is now mysteriously telepathic, he taps out an earnest _I'm not at liberty to say, that's not our business_.

And it isn't, not really.  The ABCs aren't about policing levels of queerness and meting out importance based on who's the most oppressed by the kyriarchy.  He supposes that a few of the members are surely straight allies; it's a statistical likelihood.  Grantaire could very well be straight.  But it really, _really_ isn't his place to assume.

Then again, he was the first in line to model Cosette's brainchild, the NOT A HOMOPHOBE T-shirt.  In three different colors.  (The heather grey was decided upon unanimously.)  Courfeyrac demands that he model for the web store.  Grantaire agrees, on the condition that he be compensated.

Enjolras really couldn't think of a better person to model the slogan, actually.  And Grantaire _does_ fill out the fitted tee in all the right places—from a purely aesthetic point of view.  It's a good decision.

Grantaire catches him looking and Enjolras nods once in acknowledgement—Courfeyrac really knows his stuff—before turning to the rest of the team and asking whose lovely faces they might use to model the ladies' and plus sizes.

```

Cosette's idea is a huge success, barring the inevitable wave of backlash from self-important allies, which had really been the point all along.  It's actually a bit hilarious.  The buttons are definitely next on the list, and Eponine, Marius, and Cosette have been practicing their cookie decorating skills for their next big event.

"Can you _imagine_ ," Eponine says excitedly as Cosette dutifully wipes some excess frosting off her face and eats it, "the next time someone wants a cookie for not having picked on the gay kid in high school, we can literally just _give them one_?"

"It is beautiful," Enjolras agrees, admiring the lettering on DATED A TRANS* PERSON.  "Unfortunately not sustainable, but beautiful."

"It's the irony that counts, right?" Grantaire says good-naturedly, appearing seemingly out of nowhere to observe the decorating process next to Enjolras.  He leans down, props his elbows on the table, and sweetly asks, "May I?"

"You can have the one where Marius misspelled _ciscentric_ ," says Cosette.

"Bless your beautiful soul."  He turns slightly to Enjolras and offers him the first bite.  He's not overly fond of frosting, but he takes it to be polite.  It's difficult to mess up sugar cookies, anyway.

"Delicious," he says as he hands the cookie back to Grantaire, who stares at him as he eats the rest of it in three large bites.  He notices that Eponine has gone strangely silent.  "Something wrong?"

"There's some frosting on your lip," Marius supplies quickly.

"Oh."  He licks his lips for good measure and, sure enough.  "Well anyway, great work, everyone."

He goes to check on Jehan's progress with the button maker and doesn't see the knowing look Eponine shoots Grantaire.  Grantaire, for his part, gives her a cheeky smile and dips his finger in the icing before fleeing.

```

They decide to debut their deliciously ironic cookies at an educational event the next week at UCLA, where Joly is in his last year of pre-med.  Naturally, the first order of business on the agenda is coordinating transportation.  They wouldn't normally meet until after the event, so he has to orchestrate it entirely via e-mail and Facebook.  They have a lot of stuff to move but are only allocated three parking spots, but those of them that have cars drive tiny sedans.  Marius, they discover, has an SUV that lives at his grandparents' house in the Valley, but seeing as how he's from Calabasas and has strictly resorted to public transit since he started rooming with Courfeyrac, he understands when they ask him to please not attempt to parallel park.

After dividing up the supplies into the three largest cars and several members agreeing to take the bus into Westwood, Enjolras allows himself to sit back for a second and enjoy the feeling of a potential logistical crisis deftly averted.  Then he sends out a mass text to remind all the regular members of the event, asking them to bring friends if they can.

It wasn't really meant as an RSVP type of thing, but a couple minutes later his phone chimes.

 **Grantaire (12:02:32 PM):** _and sit in the hot sun all day? no thanks_

Enjolras makes a face.

 **You (12:03:01 PM):** _it's February._  
 **Grantaire (12:05:23 PM):** _im delicate_  
 **Grantaire (12:05:37 PM):** _but i might grace you with my presence_

He's honestly not sure if Grantaire being there will makes things better or worse, although he guesses some people might recognize his picture from the website.  He chews his lip in thought for a few minutes before replying.

 **You (12:11:49 PM):** _do not make other arrangements and DO NOT BE HUNGOVER OR DRUNK I CAN'T BELIEVE I HAVE TO SAY THIS, I will pick you up beforehand to assess_

Responsibility bites.

```

He doesn't bother to ask for Grantaire's address; it's in the database, which Combeferre keeps meticulously updated.  Enjolras has been to the Brewery Artist Colony a couple times for the Art Walk, but he didn't realize Grantaire lived there.  He wonders how he can afford it, or if Grantaire shares the space with others.  With a girlfriend, maybe?  Or—he reminds himself sternly that it's rude to assume things about a person's sexual orientation, _you're the leader of a queer activist group get it together_ —a boyfriend?  A platonic life partner?  He's suddenly incredibly interested in the more private aspects of Grantaire's life and wishes, for a moment, that they were closer friends.

Enjolras looks around and checks his position on the map he downloaded to his phone—holy _shit_ this place is a fucking maze—before switching screens and calling Grantaire.  It rings a few times before Grantaire answers it with some noncommittal noise.

"You just woke up, didn't you."  Enjolras can't help but laugh.

"Maybe."

"I'm on my way up, please at least take a shower or something."

"I'll leave the door open for you," Grantaire mutters.  Enjolras imagines he's rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"Don't you dare fall back asleep," he warns.

It takes Enjolras another five minutes to find the right structure.  He has to walk up a frankly unnerving flight of wrought iron stairs that feel like they're going to fall off the side of the building to get up to the third floor.  He feels a little safer once he gets inside the hall, which he belatedly realizes is enormous.  The hall seems to go on for miles, dotted with huge industrial doors leading to studios no bigger than closets as well as proper lofts.  (Enjolras fully expects Grantaire's space to be one of the closets.)

When he finally finds the right door, Enjolras knocks twice and tries the knob.  It's open, just like Grantaire said it would be.

It's not a closet.  It's not a closet at all.

Four windows across the eastern wall span from the floor to the high ceiling, flooding the entire space with light.  It's slightly smaller than Enjolras' apartment, but the openness makes it seem gigantic.  The walls are surprisingly sparse, paintings mounted only as high as Grantaire can reach without a ladder with stacks of canvas and rolls of paper filling the rest of the space.  He hears water running from behind a closed door near the entrance and hurriedly walks past it into the main living area.  There's a tiny kitchen to the right, littered with glass bottles and stacked cases of instant ramen.  Beyond that is a battered old sofa, which Enjolras considers sitting on for a moment before the sound of running water abruptly stops.

"I let myself in," he says loudly when the door opens, keeping eyes politely on the finished paintings on the wall.

"Did you bring me breakfast?"

"There are doughnuts waiting for us on campus, if you hurry.  Combeferre's treat."  He looks over tentatively to see Grantaire pulling on one of the shirts Cosette designed, a towel around his waist.  He quickly looks away, embarrassed.

"Let me put on some pants."

" _Please_."

Grantaire trots up another shaky-looking staircase to what Enjolras assumes is the bedroom and disappears behind a clumsily-hung curtain.

"How's traffic?" he asks conversationally as he thumps around upstairs.

Enjolras groans.  "Like I said, hurry and there _might_ be a doughnut in it for you."  He decides not to tell Grantaire that he's already commanded Combeferre to save them each a glaze.  "Nice place, by the way."

"Thanks," Grantaire says, coming down the stairs a little breathlessly.  "Don't ask me what I do to afford it."

When he gets to the bottom of the stairs, Enjolras stops him and looks him over.  Grantaire smells like deodorant and not booze, which is a good start.  He has a day's worth of stubble (acceptable) and his curls are still damp, but that's alright.  The stubble even might be a nice touch, actually.

Grantaire parts his lips expectantly and Enjolras nods.  "Alright, you pass inspection.  Bring a jacket."

"Yes, mother."

They walk out to Enjolras' car making amicable small talk.  Enjolras asks about his work, though Grantaire is reluctant to say much at first.  Maybe he thinks Enjolras is making fun of him.  But when he shows genuine interest, Grantaire talks animatedly about his subject matter and his process and his current projects.  Enjolras admittedly doesn't know very much about fine arts so the concept goes a bit over his head, but it's refreshing to see Grantaire excited about something.

"Actually," Grantaire says quietly, "I was wondering if you might consider modeling for me."

" _On the condition that I be compensated_ ," he jokes.  "No but really, sure.  If you want."

"You can even keep your clothes on."

Enjolras laughs and elbows him in the ribs.  "Come on; doughnuts."

Grantaire squeezes into the passenger seat (he has to share it with a paper bag full of pamphlets) and immediately slips on his earbuds, so Enjolras doesn't feel guilty about putting his iPod on shuffle.  He hadn't been looking forward to Grantaire's inevitable commentary on his eclectic taste (or lack thereof), anyway.  Show tunes play alongside Disneyland area music and indie folk while Grantaire taps out an entirely different rhythm on his thighs.  (Not that Enjolras is looking at his thighs—he's driving.)

They're in thick mid-morning traffic for the next forty-five minutes.  Enjolras hums along to his music sometimes, or taps his fingers against the steering wheel, and after a while starts to sing along under his breath.  After a while, he realizes that Grantaire is staring at him.  "Sorry."

Grantaire smirks at him and removes his earbuds.  The next time a broadway show tune comes up on shuffle ("The Nicest Kids in Town" from _Hairspray_ ), he shouts the lyrics so loudly that Enjolras laughs and nearly swerves into traffic.  He starts to sing in earnest, too, and together they fall into a harmony that isn't altogether unpleasant.

```

They get to campus and, of course, nothing is set up or ready to go.  Combeferre is scrambling to direct five interns while simultaneously overseeing the construction of their card table ("How hard can it possibly _be_?" He sounds a little deranged.) and displays.  When he sees that Enjolras has arrived, he visibly deflates a little and is more than happy to let him take over.  In a matter of minutes, the tent and tables are erected, banners are hung, and Eponine and Cosette have started in on the displays.  (Grantaire, he notes, has been sitting down at the adjacent picnic table since they got there.)

They've missed the morning rush and it's not quite time for the next batch of classes to end yet, so they're mostly wandering around a little aimlessly, accosting random students with pamphlets—except for Grantaire, who appears to be asleep sitting up.  Enjolras decides to wake him up by dropping the greasy doughnut box on his lap.

"There.  Like I promised."

"Ah!  The prince of the morning brings sustenance."  Grantaire lifts the lid and takes a moment to select an éclair.  Enjolras ignores the weird moniker and takes the glaze he'd made Combeferre save for him.  "So what do you want me to do?"

"Stand there and look pretty," he says around a bite of doughnut.  "If anyone talks to you, be charming.  Don't talk about the futility of activism.  I know you can do it."

"I appreciate your faith in me," Grantaire says with a snort.

"Thank you for coming," Enjolras adds, somewhat quieter.

"You physically came to my loft and dragged me here."

"Yeah, well, you didn't have to let me."

Grantaire takes a big bite of his éclair.  "Yes, I did."

Enjolras is about to ask what he means but suddenly it's 10:50 and students are pouring out of classrooms—time to go to work.  Campus outreach is always exhilarating; most students, especially at a school like UCLA, will at least smile and nod before running off to their next class.  A few of them will stop and chat and sign up for their mailing list.  And then there are the ones who try to argue about queer rights, and honestly this is the main reason they want Grantaire around.  He hears a voice of dissent and his eyes practically light up.  Since Enjolras has all but forbidden him from arguing against their cause today, he leaps at the chance to argue about _anything_.  It's kind of amazing to watch.

"You should've been a lawyer," Enjolras tells him after he scares away a couple casual homophobes.  "That was kind of incredible."

"I didn't think you would approve of something so bourgeois," he mutters, slightly flushed.

Enjolras laughs.  "You're right, on second thought, I don't.  You'd be too dangerous."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment."

"I'm glad I didn't kick you out on your first week."

"Wow, two compliments in one day," Grantaire replies sourly.

"I think if one of them is backhanded, they cancel each other out," Courfeyrac pipes up.  "Can I interrupt your flirting for a second?"

Enjolras makes a face.  "What's up?"

"Well, firstly, we're all out of cookies, which is horrible because I was banking on eating all the leftovers and then popping like a balloon.  But also it's past 4:00 and we have to be out of here at 5:00, or did you forget?"

"Ah—no, I—just lost track of time watching R perform."  Courfeyrac mumbles something that sounds a lot like _I'll bet_.  "Pack up the main displays and start taking down the tent, but keep the pamphlets out."

"Aye aye, cap'n."

With most of their inventory sold (Eponine and Marius each give Cosette a congratulatory kiss on the cheek while Jehan takes a picture for the blog), more people can cram into the three cars between them so they decide to go out for dinner.  Joly recommends a Korean tofu house a couple blocks down Wilshire, because, hey, they are kind of celebrating.  Enjolras reminds them that this is not on the ABC's dime.  Grantaire tells him to lighten up and eat his soondubu.  They spend the rest of the night drinking Korean beer and laughing at anyone who can't handle spicy food.

Enjolras, knowing he'll have to be the designated driver, steals a few sips out of Courfeyrac's can but mostly sticks to water.  He's already volunteered to drop off Feuilly and Jehan on the way to Grantaire's loft.  And as one of the only sober people left in the group by the time the check comes, it's up to him to divide the check and give Marius a hard stare because, _honestly_ , who goes anywhere without any cash at all?  They end up scraping together almost enough cash and giving it all to Marius, who, red-faced, puts it all on his card.

The drive back is uneventful despite his drunk friends' general rowdiness.  Once Feuilly and Jehan have been dropped off at their respective apartments, though, Grantaire seems to fall asleep.  Without even the radio to fill the silence, it's quiet but comfortable.

As the car approaches Lincoln Heights, Grantaire clears his throat and says, "Thanks for the ride."

"I thought you were asleep," Enjolras confesses.  "You're welcome.  I don't know why you came, but I'm glad you were with us today."

"What do you mean, why?"

Enjolras shrugs.  "You didn't seem very interested.  You don't really even seem that interested at meetings, to be honest."

"I came because you asked me to," he says matter-of-factly.

"Oh."  He supposes he did, in a mass text kind of way.  "Well thank you."

"Any time," Grantaire says in a way that sounds casual but also completely, 100% serious.  They drive the rest of the way in a less comfortable kind of silence.

Enjolras pulls up as close to Grantaire's building as he can, and, knowing that he's the tiniest bit smashed, asks, "Do you need any help up?"

"No, no, I'm fine.  I… Hey, did you really have fun today?"

The question catches him off guard.  "Yeah.  Yeah, I did."

"So did I," Grantaire says slowly, as if he's having trouble picking the right words.  ( _Drunk_ , Enjolras reminds himself.)  "Normally that's not really my thing, but it was nice, hanging out with you and… um."

Enjolras suddenly feels guilty because he's been _really_ unfair to Grantaire in the past.  In his defense, he'd always assumed Grantaire was an asshole, and he kind of _is_ but now that he knows him a little better, he's starting to see why everyone else likes him so much.  "Yeah, I'm glad you came," he repeats.

"We should, um.  Do it again sometime.  See each other outside of meetings.  I mean—you must know how I feel about—"

"The cause?"

Grantaire blinks at him, owlish.  "You.  About you."

Enjolras' entire brain shorts out.  "I—oh."  _Oh_ , indeed.  "Why would—I mean—"

"Please don't make fun of me," says Grantaire, sounding slightly pained.  "I can't take that from you right now."

"No, I—I'm sorry, it's just I'm a complete _idiot_."  Guilty as Enjolras felt before, he now feels even worse.  "I have to tell you, I'm—I'm not looking for anything right now, so…"

"No, no, I get it.  Forget I said anything."  Grantaire moves to get out of the car, but Enjolras grabs his arm (and great, now his seatbelt is locked and he can't move, either).

"I'm not saying no."  Having discovered this new, pleasant side of Grantaire, he doesn't want to go back to the surly, perpetually intoxicated sophist that leers at him through meetings when he thinks he isn't looking.   And while Enjolras _isn't_ looking for anything right now (or ever, really), he'll try anything once, especially if it falls into his lap.  He _did_ have fun today with Grantaire, and it's not like it has to turn into anything serious.  And as much as Enjolras enjoys his work, his friends are always telling him that his life is severely lacking in fun.  "I want to."

Grantaire looks a little nonplussed.  "Okay."  He opens the car door and shoots Enjolras a tight smile.  "See you on Tuesday."

"Grantaire—"

"Call me."  He shuts the car door with a sense of finality and—god this is idiotic.  Enjolras rolls down the window.

"Grantaire!"  He sees Grantaire's silhouette turn back toward the car.

"Is this you calling me?"

"I've thought about this a lot in the last thirty seconds, please go out with me."  Enjolras is surprised to find that he means it.  "Wait, this is all backwards, how did you do that?"

Grantaire laughs.  "Go home.  I'll call you; cross my heart."

```

It takes Enjolras a little longer to get home than it should—he gets honked at by other drivers at a couple times because he's texting Courfeyrac at red lights.

 **You (11:23:59 PM):** _did you know about this you asshole_  
 **Courfeyrac (11:25:02 PM):** _what :) did r kiss you in the pale moonlight_  
 **You (11:32:18 PM):** _OH MY GOD_  
 **You (11:32:25 PM):** _YOU DID_  
 **You (11:38:06 PM):** _I THOUGHT YOU WERE ON MY SIDE_  
 **Courfeyrac (11:39:02 PM):** _dude are you driving_  
 **You (11:50:31 PM):** _I HATE YOU_  
 **Courfeyrac (11:52:16 PM):** _nah :)_

Enjolras finally gets to his apartment complex and feels like running laps.  He satisfies himself by making more trips to unload the supplies from his trunk than strictly necessary.  He even tries to put everything in its proper place rather than just leaving it in a pile by the door.

Flirting is a fucking enigma.  He's always been clueless about it, even in high school— _especially_ in high school, before he'd discovered that he wasn't really interested in sex.  As an adult, he's a lot more businesslike and standoffish, even with friends.  He doesn't understand where the line is between friendliness and flirting and wonders if maybe he'd crossed it today.  But even if he had, he's been just as rude (if not more) to Grantaire as anyone else in the group, and none of _them_ are coming onto him.

Until very recently, he hasn't held Grantaire in high esteem.  Someone to tolerate, and maybe be friendly with occasionally—not someone to love.  (He reminds himself that he doesn't really view _anyone_ that way, but still.)  Would it be so bad, to be loved by someone like Grantaire?  Grantaire, who believes in nothing and no one?

Enjolras takes a shower and does the dishes that have been sitting in his sink for three days without really thinking about it.  He's wondering what it would be like to hold Grantaire's hand, and if he would track charcoal stains and paint on his clothes and on his skin, and what it feels like to be kissed by someone with a day's worth of stubble when he realizes he's been washing the same dish for the past three minutes.  This is ridiculous.  He's ridiculous.

Enjolras tries to go to bed but ends up thrashing around under the sheets for half an hour before getting up again and booting up his laptop.  He thinks that maybe if he works himself to exhaustion—or catches up on _Parks and Recreation_ on Netflix—he'll have an easier time sleeping.  Instead, he checks the ABC blog and sees that Jehan, bless him, has already written up an event report and posted some of the pictures he took that afternoon.  In one of them, Enjolras stands with arms crossed, smiling and saying something to Grantaire, who's lounging on a picnic table with his back to the camera.  He stares at the picture for a full minute before he opens a new tab and starts composing an e-mail to his mother.

_Hi, mom._

_Just did an event at UCLA this afternoon.  Seems like just yesterday I was a college freshman, myself.  We all went out for Korean food afterwards.  It's great to have this group of friends here in LA, I don't know what I'd do without them._

He chews his lip.

_I met a guy today._

The cursor blinks at him accusingly as he struggles to come up with something else.

_Actually, I've known him for a while, but I only really got to know him today.  Dad would probably like him, which is mildly horrifying.  We theoretically have a date.  Wish me luck?  Hope you're doing well.  I love you.  - E_

He hits the 'send' button before he can regret writing it in the first place.  He feels a bit foolish, talking to his mom about boys, but he has the distinct impression that all of his friends will tease him like Courfeyrac, because apparently Grantaire had been really fucking obvious the entire time and Enjolras was the only one who hadn't picked up on it.

With a sigh, he pulls the stack of mailing list forms they'd gotten back from the students today and begins to enter them into their database from his laptop.  It's repetitive and tedious work that requires close attention—the perfect thing to take his mind off Grantaire's cool gaze and his slightly parted lips and the forced casualness when he'd asked Enjolras not to make fun of him.

It takes him two and a half hours, but he finishes the entire stack.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't describe the Brewery in very great detail for fear of sounding like a Wikipedia article, but if you don't know what it is, [check it out](http://labrewery.com/brewery/), it's pretty incredible. (Also, if you get directions from there to UCLA, you'll realize that the distance I made Enjolras drive in morning traffic is inhumane.)
> 
> Anyway, I initially had only wanted to write this to get inside the head of an asexual character who enters a sexual relationship and only needed to choose a setting, but then the marriage equality vote happened in the UK and it got away from me a bit. It's... it's gonna happen. I hope someone enjoys this even half as much as I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> ADDENDUM WOW I FORGOT TO SOURCE THIS, SORRY, but [Feminist Cookies](http://www.flickr.com/photos/22789525@N00/sets/72157616944737345/) are totally a thing that I did not invent!


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